True Story: Since the birth of our son, almost 3 years ago, I have not heard the phrase Is she lactating once. I used to hear it on a daily basis.

3) Picture this: Big important meeting. Discussing the purchase of millions of dollars worth of real estate. I’m on fire. I’ve got this group of men in the palm of my hand. They think I’m smart. This young woman knows what she’s talking about…

Enter: Wet spot, spreading across my shirt in the breast area. It gets to about 6 inches in diameter before one of the very embarrassed men says something to me.

True Story: I have been avoiding BP way before your Momma met your Poppa.

Since recent events in our precious Gulf of Mexico have sent BP oil spewing all over the place, I am flooded with nightmares of my nemesis who works at the Money Back BP Station in Orange Beach, AL.

True Story: Unfortunately, the meanest of all Meanies works at the closest gas station to my house. Therefore, I can’t shop at this gas station now for 2 reasons: 1) BP Corporation is a Liar Liar Pants on Fire, and 2) A sad man who hates human beings works the cash register on the afternoon/evening shift.

This really irks me that I can’t shop here, because it is a nice clean store with a great wine selection for a stop n shop. This would normally be where I would stop for a bottle of wine on the way home from work (Not EVERYDAY… Geez). But now, I have to search for a parking spot and walk my tired ass into a REAL grocery store in order to avoid the jerks (BP & Meany).

Latest 3 Examples of Meany’s bad behavior:

1) I was checking out with Meany when a sweet, older man walked in the store behind me.

Older Man: Excuse me sir, I can’t get Pump # 3 to work? Could you help me?

Meany: I’ll be with you in a minute… And if your bad attitude continues, you can purchase gas somewhere else.

Older man: Speechless

Me: (Mouthing) WTF???

2) I stop on the way home one evening for a bottle of wine to accompany our dinner. I put it on the counter in front of Meany.

Meany: I need to see your ID.

Me: No Problem. (Hey I’m pushy 35, can you say compliment)?

Meany: It’s not my problem.

Me: Okay…

He studies the ID for a good 90 seconds. He apparently wants the goods and services to leave the Money Back BP only under mandatory circumstances.

Meany: Your ID expires in November.

It’s like March maybe.

Me: Okay.

I’m now toe-tapping to get my ID back, pay the man and get the hell out of creepy store.

Meany: (Raising his voice) I have to check this.

Me: (Lighthearted) Oh I know, I don’t care.

Meany: I don’t care either… I DON’T CARE IF YOU EVER COME BACK IN HERE AGAIN.

Me: (Staring into his hateful eyes) Dude. You hate yourself.

I ran out the door.

3) I stopped by the Money Back BP around 2pm one afternoon thinking it was too early in the day for Meany’s shift to start… Wrong. I walked in, locked eyes with him… Threw my hands in the air, swore and stomped out.

True Story: I complained to his manager one morning. She told me to really piss him off… I should buy about $200 worth of stuff and put it on the counter and that would really “stick it to him”.

Good Idea lady. She clearly has no plans to fire him, so I have no plans to shop there.

My best bud and I had BIG Mother’s Day plans. We were gonna do NUTHIN.

We were going to lay around in the sun, drink some cold ones, and watch our kids play. Yes, you read correctly, beer and children, we occasionally mix them. Our men agreed (sort of) to cook and cater to us.

Well… They began “discussing” the ribs they were going to grill us first thing in the morning… Along with chicken wings, potato skins, salad, bread and more. Around 11am I saw them working with the meat and getting the grill going.

True Story: We ate at 8pm. 9 hours later.

Of course, they ended up having a grill off (sword fight) over who’s ribs were going to be better. The best part? 3 men somehow managed to walk away from the grill for the last “15 critical minutes” and $100 worth of ribs were burned… Charred. Do you think beer was involved?

True Story: I had to take a nap at 5 pm because I was starved and dehydrated from having to drink beer in the sun with no food… When I woke up, the meal still wasn’t ready. Pa-leeze. Do women have to do everything???

In other news, I found a Mother’s Day “report card” that I gave my Mom circa 1982:

Cooks for me: A+

Washes Dishes: B

Keeps house clean: C+ (Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree)

Fixes my clothes: A (What?!?! I haven’t seen a needle and thread in that women’s hand in 34 years).

Gives me Money: B (Still room for improvement here).

Takes me places: A

Let’s me go visiting: A

Helps me with my homework: B+

Listens to me read: C (Oh well, at least we have spellcheck now)

Plays with me: A (I don’t know about this one Mom)

Speaks kindly to me: B (Hmmm… More room for improvement. Not sure this is a fair question for the teachers to pose)

Takes me to church: A+ (Yes Ma’am. You going to get your a_ _ up and get to church.)

Listens to me when I talk to her: A- (This actually worked to our advantage. We always knew to ask Mom for things we wanted to have or do when she was on the phone, or reading or paying bills. You always got a “Uh, huh”… YES!)

I wrote a note on the report card:

Dear Mom,

I’d like to write a thank you note. I know it’s not too nice. But all that I could think to say is thanks!

He is a nomadic sleeper. He will maybe start out in our bed, but over the course of the night, he will move to different beds/couches throughout the house… a minimum of 3-4 times.

It’s not the waking me up that bothers me, or the going in and out of rooms and stomping across the floor all night… It’s the nests.

It’s infuriating. He can’t just SLEEP on the couch. He has to throw all the back pillows & throw pillows on the floor.

My problem with all of this is that he doesn’t pick them up. He’s too “sleepy”. (Well, no shit. If you walk around all night looking for the perfect sleep spot, you don’t get ANY sleep).

So, every morning… I said, every morning, I get up and pick up HIS side of the bed. Then, I pick up the couch, the downstairs guest area he has invaded… And, most mornings, after our 2-year-old has climbed out of bed, I find him nestled in G Monkey’s bed.

True Story: Pump bleeds from the head while he sleeps.

I know. Weird, huh? Strange, alien phenomenon? I have no idea.

It doesn’t make sense, but all his pillow cases have blood stains on them. Apparently, it is a Pump Disease. I just hope G Monkey doesn’t inherit.

So you can see how it would gross me out when he sleeps on my sweet baby angel’s pillow case and bleeds all over it. I’m already a germ psycho. But my hysteria is accelerated after cleaning up 3 nests only to find him in our son’s room hemorrhaging everywhere.

True Story: I will try any cure for any of my ailments that anyone ever suggests to me.

I suffer from arthritis, neck pain, and crazy. So, I am always popping anti-inflammatories and such for my neck pain. It doesn’t help that I’ve been a NATURAL double D since age 12, and spend the majority of my days at a computer.

So, I was talked into a microchip that you stick on your neck. It releases energy frequency waves instead of drugs or meds to alleviate pain.

Let me paint a picture for you: I was bragging last night about how I hadn’t taken an Advil or an Aleve in days since I put this chip on my neck.

I woke up this morning, neck felt great, started walking around the house picking up nests. I eventually find Pump on the couch. He wakes up, looks at me and starts screaming, “Ahh! There’s something wrong with you. What’s wrong with your neck?!?! It’s all swollen… And gross!”

I run to the bathroom to look in the mirror…. I have no idea what he is talking about. My neck, and for that matter, all of me from the waist up, look fine… Even a little bit more svelte than usual… I’ve lost a few.

I don’t know if I have mentioned this before, but Pump is a bit of a panicker.

True Story: This is not the first time in our lives together that he has looked at me out of the blue, with a horrific look on his face and screamed, “Ugh!! What’s wrong with you?!?! What’s wrong with your face?!?! It’s gross!!!”